


The Alphabet Snippets

by DesireeArmfeldt



Category: due South
Genre: Alphabet, Backstory, Books, Canon Backstory, Character Study, Community: dsc6dsnippets, Cooking, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dolphin Sex, Dolphins & Whales, Emotional Baggage, Episode Related, Episode Tag, Established Relationship, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Introspection, Loneliness, Love, M/M, Marriage, Memories, Metaphors, Missing Scene, Nerdiness, Parents & Children, Past Relationship(s), Prompt Fic, Riddles, Sex, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Video & Computer Games
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-29
Updated: 2012-12-29
Packaged: 2017-11-22 19:36:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 8,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/613493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DesireeArmfeldt/pseuds/DesireeArmfeldt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For December 2012, <a href="http://ds-snippets.livejournal.com">ds-snippets</a> ran an alphabet prompt-a-day challenge. I wrote a snippet for each prompt (plus a couple of extras). The entire set of snippets is collected here. </p><p>These snippets are all independent of each other; some could be taking place in the same universe, others are mutually incompatible. They're all about Fraser and/or RayK, just to give a little focus to an otherwise miscellaneous collection of mini-fics. Some are slash, some het, some gen, and a number leave room for interpretation based on the goggles of the reader. Some are about sex, though most are not. The angst-to-hope ratio varies widely from snippet to snippet.</p><p>(I wanted to put tags on individual snippets/chapters, but either that's not possible or I just can't figure out out how to do it.  So it's a bit of a grab-bag in here.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Apple

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Apple

A few weeks into the Vecchio gig, Ray arrived one morning and found an apple on his desk.  He hadn’t put it there, but he figured someone had left it by mistake, or maybe there’d been a fruit basket that got shared around.  Whatever.  He ate it as a mid-afternoon snack and forgot about it.

After a solid week of apples appearing on his desk, he couldn’t forget about it or write it off as one of those random things.  He asked Elaine and Frannie if it was some kind of fruit-of-the-week club thing; they didn’t know anything.  He asked around to see if Vecchio had some apple-a-day fetish that Ray was supposed to be maintaining.  No one had ever seen Vecchio eat an apple.

He asked Fraser and got a story about Greek goddesses throwing golden apples around to fix footraces, start wars, and generally make trouble.  And then he wouldn’t take the apple of the day when Ray offered it to him.  So that solved the mystery of where the apples were coming from.   Didn’t explain _why_ , but by that point, Ray had figured out that in the dictionary, the first definition under _inexplicable_ was _Constable Benton Fraser, RCMP._   So he decided to roll with it; why look a gift apple in the mouth, right?

It’s not like it was a big deal.  When Fraser went back to Canada, so many things went missing from Ray’s life that apples didn’t even make the top 100.

But today, he’s staring down at a splotch of red shining out from the litter of papers covering his desk.  He hefts the apple, firm and solid in his palm: apology, promise, question and answer, all right there.  A smile cracks his face as he sinks in his teeth.


	2. Bold (and Brave)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Bold

People often consider Fraser to be brave.  He’s been both complimented and officially commended for it.  He generally doesn’t try to explain that most of what they view as his acts of bravery are simply the result of not fearing the same things as other people.  Bravery, after all, is the ability to face what one fears.

Ray is astonishingly brave.  Ray’s fears range from the trivial to the monumental, from the absurd to the sensible, but when push comes to shove, Ray invariably steps up to the plate (to mix a metaphor after Ray’s own style).

Fraser admires Ray’s bravery, but what he secretly envies is Ray’s capacity for boldness.  To say what he thinks, without strategy.  To act on his feelings without considering the consequences.  To ask a woman out.

Fraser is comfortable with women as people; as potential romantic or sexual partners, they make him absurdly nervous.  He has no vocabulary for approaching them.  Rather, he does, but he knows that the rules and rituals he is familiar with are so antiquated as to be ridiculous.  With a colleague or a friend, he might be able to bypass formality and just _begin_ – but the reasons to avoid such a romance are too many and too sound.

He watches Ray flirt and proposition with no apparent fear of rejection.  Watches him feel the hurt of being turned down or ignored or outright insulted, then somehow absorb it like the tide washing away a footprint in the sand, and come back for more, fresh and unmarked.  Watches Ray’s face light up and his body relax into fluid readiness when a woman returns his smile, steps closer, says Yes.


	3. Catharsis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Catharsis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Definitions pulled from Merriam Webster online and Wiktionary, tossed in a blender with a bit of Wikipedia, and massaged a little.

_Catharsis (ca_ _·thar_ _·sis):_

_1:_ _(drama) A release of emotional tension after an overwhelming vicarious experience, as through watching a dramatic production (especially a tragedy), resulting in the purging or purification of the emotions (as pity and fear). Coined in this sense by Aristotle._

_2: Any release of emotional tension to the same effect, more generally._

_3: (psychology) A therapeutic technique to relieve tension through expressing or experiencing the deep emotions associated with events in the individual's past which had originally been repressed or ignored._

_4: (medicine) Purging of the digestive system._

Standing guard outside the men’s room, Fraser keeps half an ear tuned to the sound of Ray vomiting, in case his assistance is required, and considers the nature of catharsis.

Ray, with his alarming volatility, is a textbook example of the concept of an emotional safety valve.  He yells, he punches walls, he weeps, and this enables him to endure life’s harsh blows without breaking, to do what must be done without losing control of himself.  Fraser has repeatedly watched him confront the ghosts of his past, struggling through guilt, shame, regret, anger, sorrow, fear, to emerge from the ordeal stronger, calmer. More whole.

Fraser, being of a fundamentally different nature, has little direct experience with catharsis in the colloquial or psychotherapeutic sense.  But he sometimes wonders if watching Ray, watching over Ray, serves the cathartic function that Aristotle claimed for tragedy: bringing him emotional release and rebalancing his feelings, so that he is neither too strongly ruled nor too distantly guided by them. 

He wonders whether sympathizing with his partner bleeds off internal pressure before it builds to the point of explosion.  Or, alternatively, whether Ray is his tether to the world of human feelings which he understands but from which he stands apart.


	4. Everything You Always Wanted To Know About Dolphins (But Were Afraid To Ask)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Dolphin

“Fraser, did you know that dolphins have sex just for fun?”

“As opposed to mating for procreative purposes, you mean?”

“Yeah.  I mean, obviously they have sex to make babies too, but sometimes they just like to get off with each other.”

“That’s very interesting, Ray.  I’m not surprised to learn it—mm, that’s nice.  Dolphins are highly intelligent and highly sociable.  And animals, in general, have more complex lives than can be explained by biological programming alone.”

“There’s gay dolphins, too.”

“In the sense that there are dolphins who sometimes engage in homosexual sex?  Or do some dolphins exclusively mate within their own gender?”

“Uh…I don’t know, the article didn’t say.  Maybe dolphins are all bisexual, I don’t know.”

“Oh. . .more, please?”

“Oh, yeah. . .like that?”

“Just like that. . .” 

“But you know what’s really kinky?”

“I wish you wouldn’t use that term, Ray.  It implies that—ah!—that sexual desires that fall outside the modal practice are somehow less valid than—”

“Dolphins are sexually attracted to non-dolphin critters.  Including humans! Dolphins _hit on people_ , don’t tell me that’s normal behavior!”

“On the contrary, unless the—the dolphins are being coerced, what you describe must be, by—mm. . .—by definition, natural behavior.”

“Tell that to the dolphin’s mother.”

“There are more things in heaven and Earth, Horatio—“

“—than they tell you about on the Discovery Channel, yeah, yeah, I know.”

“Ah. . .  Ray?”

“Yeah?”

“Is this your idea of pillow talk?”

“No, yours.  I can’t tell you nothing about caribou scat you don’t already know, but they don’t have so many dolphins in Canada, I figured maybe I’d get lucky.  What do you think?”

“I think. . .you should. . .keep doing that.”

“What, talking, or. . . ?”

“Yes.”


	5. Echoes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Echo

In the mountains, the crack of a gunshot can be heard for miles.  It echoes for endless seconds.

It was surely not the first shot he’d heard in his life, but it is the first he remembers.  A shotgun blast, he knows now, though his six-year-old self knew only noise.

All other gunshots have been its echoes.

On the firing range: raise, sight, squeeze.  _Bang._   Over and over until he could place a bullet simply by desiring it.

In the mountains, near a dam that never should have been built.  A shot he never heard, except in his dreams.

On a train platform, the crack of a gun blotting out his footfalls and the roar of the engine and her voice calling his name, leaving only cold and the absence of pain.

Gun trained on him, eyes that tell him this is it, no words can stop the bullet, he’s lost his final round of Russian Roulette—and Ray jumping between him and the gun and falling to the hospital floor—Ray falling into his arms among the dockside crates—Ray falling as the Ferris Wheel turns and Fraser can only watch.

A gun in his dead father’s hand.  The shot echoes off the mineshaft walls—and Muldoon falls, blood for blood, the circle closed in death—

—the shot echoes off the mineshaft walls as Fraser steps in front of his father and falls, blood for justice, for all the bullets meant for him, all the bullets he failed to stop—

\--the shot echoes off the mineshaft walls as his father shoots in the air. 

For once, his father hears him.  _This was wrong twenty-nine years ago and it’s wrong now._

The click of the safety.  His father hands him the gun.

_You’ll take him in?_

_Oh yes._


	6. Footloose (And Fancy Free)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Footloose

Lounging against the bar, Ray takes a pull on his beer while he checks out the crowd dancing— _yeah, let’s be generous and call it dancing_ —to ’80s music under a for-God’s-sake- _really_? mirror ball.  Fortunately, no one’s actually trying to dance like it’s the ‘80s.  Unlike Ray, a fair number of the people here look like they were teenagers when _Footloose_ came out, but apparently they’ve long since given up trying to imitate Kevin Bacon or, God forbid, Michael Jackson.

He saunters out onto the dancefloor: crappy music or not, he can shake his bootie with the best of ‘em.  He’s always preferred ballroom, Latin, dances where you actually dance _with_ a partner instead of vaguely next to them.  But hey, he doesn’t have a partner, so it’s convenient that he doesn’t need one.

A couple of songs and Ray’s T-shirt is dark with sweat, his body’s loose, and he’s attracted some attention.  A petite girl with a pixie cut dances with him for a while, and she’s cute and limber but she’s also— _Jesus_ —possibly actually young enough to be his daughter.  A blonde closer to his own age slides her hands invitingly up to his shoulders, pulling him into a close dance.  And he could, he could invite her back to his place, she’d probably be game. 

But he doesn’t.  He smiles and goes back to dancing solo.  And yeah, lets some hip-thrust creep in there, a little 80’s jerk and spin, all sharp edges like his body, like his fucking life.  Showing these losers what real dancing looks like, never mind that half the picture’s missing, along with most of the point.  Ray Kowalski’s still got what it takes. 

 _Let’s hear it for the boy. . .let’s give the boy a hand. . ._ Oh, yeah.


	7. Schadenfreude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: German

There’s some German word—Ray can’t remember how it goes, but it has a lot of consonants and Fraser once told him it means “happiness at the misfortune of others.”  Which is a smart thing to have a word for, and so traditionally American he’s surprised English doesn’t have one.

Ray tries not to be a mean person.  At least, he tries to only be mean to people who deserve it, or when he needs a witness to spill their guts.  Sure, he’s never going to win any ray-of-sunshine contests, but he tries not to be more of asshole than he has to be.

But when he’s had an extra-sucky day or maybe it’s the anniversary of his wedding or his divorce, and he’s sitting in his junky apartment full of random crap that reminds him of happy times, and he can’t even be bothered to crawl into a bottle—those times, he thinks about Fraser.

Because if anyone’s life sucks more than Ray’s, Fraser’s does.  Stuck in an insult of a job, boss who alternates put-downs with sexual harassment, not just working in a matchbox of an office but living in it, a million miles from home.  Both parents murdered.  Oh yeah, and his exactly one real friend is a loser who gets off on thinking about how miserable Fraser is.

This is the point in the evening where Ray typically gets so sick of himself that he drives over to the Consulate, where Fraser never acts surprised to find Ray on his doorstep at some random hour of the night, just to entertain him by poking fun at Turnbull and Huey and Dewey.  Fraser chides him for his lack of generosity, prim and poker-faced but not trying to hide the amusement glinting in his eyes.


	8. Habenero

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Habenero

Once, during Fraser’s training at Depot, a classmate, Danny Yu, handed him a green fruit about the size and shape of two thumbs pressed together.

“Try it.”  The glint in Danny’s eyes warned Fraser that, once again, he was being set up.  But Danny wasn’t malicious.  His attempts to put one over on his fresh-from-the-backwoods classmate were friendly challenges, an ongoing game between them.  So Fraser took a sniff of the thing’s unusual odor, then bit into it.

The pain startled him.  He’d been expecting a pungent flavor, but at first he could taste nothing at all, only feel his tongue burn like he’d licked acid.  As the sensation wore off, he became aware of a complex, intriguing taste.

“Ah,” he said, meeting Danny’s grin with a steady gaze.  “I see why they call them _hot_ peppers.”

The habenero was a revelation, one of many Regina had to offer.  It opened a crack through which Fraser could begin to glimpse the vast universe of possibilities of flavor, food preparation, culture.  Fraser had always been hungry to learn and understand as much as he could about the world around him and the people in it; in Regina, he truly understood for the first time how varied and limitless was the world’s store of information.  One man’s lifetime of experiences wouldn’t scratch the surface; but what a relief to know that one could never run out of novel things to learn, untried challenges.

Walking from O’Hare airport into Chicago proper is like going over a waterfall in slow motion: Fraser is gradually overwhelmed by light, noise, rush, press, everything so big and so much, harsh and crowded and dangerous and bursting with detail.

Remembering the first touch of capsicum on his tongue, Fraser takes a breath of bitter fumes and smiles.


	9. Innoculation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Innoculation

Fraser has come to the conclusion that love is like a disease.  Most people experience a relatively harmless version in their youth, much like an inoculation with live vaccine.  This protects them when they encounter more virulent, deadly forms of the disease later on.

Fraser encountered love for the first time when he was twenty, completely unprotected.  The fever took him hard and nearly killed him.  It left him scars and secret weaknesses, but he lived.  And having survived his bout with love, he can at least be grateful for its other legacy: immunity against future infection.

That thought comforts him, right up to the day he finds himself staring (not for the first time) at his transfer papers and wondering (not for the first time) why he can’t bear to sign his name, say Yes, go home.  On those previous occasions, he had answered:  _I’m making a difference here.  My skills are needed.  Chicago is not my home, but I have a place here.  There are people I’d miss if I left.  It’s not time to go yet._

Those reasons are as sound as ever.  But a new thought drowns the rest: _If I go, I’ll never see Ray again._

Familiar symptom ( _If I don’t go after her…_ ).  Only one logical diagnosis.  And though he shouldn’t be feeling it in the first place, the yearning is just as relentless and searing as before, its hold on him just as implacable.

And yet, somehow benign: nothing deadly or dangerous about it.  Perhaps this is a different disease altogether, or perhaps his hard-won antibodies have caused the virus to express itself in this harmless fashion, or. . .

Fraser is coming to the conclusion that he hasn’t the faintest notion what love is like.


	10. Joust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Joust

“This place is older than me,” Ray sighs, sliding into a booth.  “Now they’re shutting it down.  Probably going to turn it into another fucking Starbucks.”

“That would be a shame,” says Fraser.  “Is it a favorite of yours?  It’s a bit out of your neighborhood.”

“Haven’t been here in years.  But our first apartment was over thataway—me and Stella, when we got married.  It was our Saturday morning thing: grocery shopping, then take our clothes to the Laundromat and come over here to get a shake and play Joust.”

“Joust?” asks Fraser.  “That would be a. . .card game?”

Ray snorts.  “Video game.  This was in the ‘80s, every restaurant had an arcade game in the corner.  Cost a quarter for a game.  If you sucked, that could be a couple of minutes, but a good player could go half an hour or more.  Me and Stell could last longer than the dryer cycle.”

Fraser smiles at Ray’s smile.  “What was the objective of the game?”

“So, you were this knight guy riding a flying ostrich—”

“That’s silly.  Ostriches don’t fly.”

“They did in the game.  Anyway, the point was to knock off enemy knights, but the cool thing about Joust, compared to most other games at the time, was that the two-player mode let you play as a team, not just take turns.  We’d cuddle up close trying to see the screen, ‘cause the machine wasn’t really big enough for two.  Taking down those evil ostrich-riders together.”

“I imagine you made an effective partnership,” says Fraser.

“Yeah.”  Ray smiles wistfully, then reaches over to steal one of Fraser’s fries.  “So, you know, if we ever need to chase down a bunch of guys riding ostriches, I got skills.”

“You’re a man of surprising talents,” says Fraser.


	11. 9 Kilos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Kilogram

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story really really wanted more than 300 words to tell. Also, it turns out that there are multiple plausible ways to read it, not all of them what I originally intended. Prizes to anyone who feels like writing the full-length version of this story. (I might, someday, but my ideas queue is long!)

“So, Fraser. . .What’s the real story?”

“About what?”

“10 kilos of heroin.  Was it a misprint, or what?”

“I have no idea; it was before my time.  However, thanks to your quick thinking this afternoon, the matter has been satisfactorily resolved.”

“Satisfactorily, huh?”

“You saved Ray Vecchio’s reputation, removed Internal Affairs’ excuse to further harass Lieutenant Welsh, and avoided prosecution for a crime you didn’t commit.”

“Yeah, but. . .did I commit it, or didn’t I?”

“Of course not.”

“Well, obviously I didn’t, but. . .you know, did _I_ do it?”

“Oh.  Did you, my friend Ray Vecchio, cause nine kilograms of heroin to disappear from evidence?”

“Exactly.”

“You’ve just demonstrated that you did not.”

“Fraser.  Come on.  I’m going to do my job covering Vecchio’s ass, I need to know this stuff.  Spill.”

“I don’t believe Ray Vecchio would do such a thing.  But I wasn’t there; I can’t say for sure.”

“That doesn’t bug you?”

“Should it?”

“Your friend?  Your partner?  You’re not even a little curious whether he—?”

“He didn’t.”

“You just said you don’t know that.”

“I know Ray Vecchio.  Probably it was a careless error.  Ray’s approach to paperwork was slapdash at best.”

“You want to bet that’s all it was?  Slip of the pen?”

“I’m not a betting man.”

“Well, I wouldn’t take that bet.”

“No, nor would I.”

“And _that_ doesn’t bother you?”

Fraser sighed.  “Of course it does.  But it’s not my business, as Lieutenant Welsh will tell you.  I’m not even a member of the Chicago police force, and Ray Vecchio—”

“Ray Vecchio _is._   Ray Vecchio thinks something funky went down, there.  And Ray Vecchio’s not the kind of guy to let it slide.”

Fraser exchanged a smile with his new partner.

“As you say, Ray.”


	12. Lustrous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Lustrous

Ben loves all his father’s uniforms, but the red one best of all. 

When his father comes home after patrol, he cleans and cares for all his kit: harness and tackle; tent and bedroll; coat, boots, mittens, hat.  And all his uniforms.  He’s showed Ben how to polish the brass buttons and buckles until they glow in the lamplight; how to oil the leather to keep it supple; how to remove stains from the wool and brush and iron it so that it’s perfect: no marks or wrinkles. 

Tonight, his father is letting Ben help him clean his uniforms.  Ben polishes each button carefully, making sure that none of the polish touches the wool or gets on his fingers.  His father hums as he oils his dress boots—the tall ones that go with the red uniform, the ones his father doesn’t wear on the trail, but cleans every time he comes home, just the same.

The red uniform is for special occasions and for presenting himself to the public, his father has told him, but it’s more than that.  It shows people what it means to be a Mountie; what he’s made of.  That’s why it’s so important for the uniform to be spotless.  Each gleaming button is a promise that his father is someone you can rely on: he’ll do what needs to be done, maintain the right, and never, ever let you down. 

His mother stands over Ben and ruffles his hair.  “You’re going to drive him Mountie-mad,” she tells his father, sighing and laughing at the same time, so Ben can’t figure out whether she thinks that’s a good thing or not.

His father gives her a wink and sings a little louder as he passes Ben the jar of neat’s-foot oil.


	13. Mixtape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Mixtape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was a bit of an experiment; I wrote two versions. See next chapter for the extended dance remix.

_Fraser,_

_You’re the word guy, not me.  I fucked it up trying to explain to you last night, so I’ll say it a different way, one more try.  If you don’t like the words, give the music a chance._

_Ray._

1\. Contact – The Police

2\. Breathe – R.E.M

3\. Setting Me Up – Dire Straits

4\. Dancing in the Dark – Bruce Springsteen

5\. Sometimes A Fantasy – Billy Joel

6\. Who’s Gonna Ride Your Wild Horses – U2

7\.  I don’t Want To Be Alone Anymore – Billy Joel

8\.  Open Arms – Journey

9.  Take a Chance on Me – ABBA


	14. Mixtape (the long version)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Mixtape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The experience of this version is slightly less dependent on actually knowing the songs...

_Fraser,_

_You’re the word guy, not me.  I fucked it up trying to explain to you last night, so I’ll say it a different way, one more try.  If you don’t like the words, give the music a chance._

_Ray._

1\. Contact – The Police

_Have we got contact  
You and me?_

2\. Breathe – R.E.M

_I will try not to burden you_  
 _I can hold these inside._  
 _I will hold my breath_  
 _Until all these shivers subside_

3\. Setting Me Up – Dire Straits

_You're setting me up to put me down  
You're making me out to be your clown_

4\. Dancing in the Dark – Bruce Springsteen

_You can't start a fire, you can't start a fire without a spark  
This gun's for hire even if we're just dancing in the dark_

5\. Sometimes A Fantasy – Billy Joel

_When am I gonna take control get a hold of my emotions  
Why does it only seem to hit me in the middle of the night_

_It’s not the real thing_  
 _It’s just a fantasy_  
 _Sometimes a fantasy_  
 _Is what you need_

6\. Who’s Gonna Ride Your Wild Horses – U2  
  
 _You're dangerous 'cause you're honest  
You're dangerous, you don't know what you want_

7\.  I don’t Want To Be Alone Anymore – Billy Joel  
  
 _I don't want to be alone anymore_  
 _And, I want you tonight_  
 _Although you hurt me before_

8\.  Open Arms (Journey)

_So now I come to you, with open arms_  
 _Nothing to hide, believe what I say_  
 _So here I am with open arms_

9.  Take a Chance on Me – ABBA

_If you need me, let me know, gonna be around_  
 _If you've got no place to go, if you're feeling down_  
 _If you're all alone when the pretty birds have flown_  
 _Honey I'm still free_  
 _Take a chance on me_


	15. Nausea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Nausea

Ray turns his face to the wall so he doesn’t have to look at. . .it.  Breathes slow and shallow, trying to settle his stomach.  The morgue-stench of formaldehyde and old blood doesn’t help.  Neither does the conversation Fraser and Mort are having behind him.  Or the way Fraser’s happy to touch and sniff and _lick_. . .that. 

(Ray swallows hard.  He’s _not_ going to toss his cookies _._   He’s a cop, he’s seen dead people before, he can handle this.)

But that’s the thing.  He’s mostly okay at crime scenes.  Looking at murder victims isn’t his favorite thing, but it doesn’t make him puke.  It’s just in the morgue, stripped and laid out like a pig carcass on a conveyor belt. . .they’re not dead _people_ any more, they’re _things_ , cold meat.  And that should be less gross, but Ray’s stomach crawls at the wrongness.

(He’s sweating hot and cold; dizzy, but his grip on the counter keeps him from falling, and the pain in his fingers focuses his attention.  _Come on Fraser, get on with it_.)

He would’ve figured Fraser would get upset by death, or that he’d at least treat corpses with respect.  Not like. . .evidence.  Ray doesn’t know what creeps him out more: Mort’s fond tone, or Fraser’s matter-of-fact one.  He pictures them as vultures, crouched over the. . .no.  He shakes off the image quick, before he totally loses it.

They’re not disrespectful, really.  They just. . .accept it as natural, maybe.  And get on with doing what they can for the _people_.  Getting them justice.  Laying them to rest.

But all Ray can think about is rotting flesh and worms crawling out of empty eyes.  All he can do is hang on and keep his lunch down until Fraser gets him out of there.


	16. Oregano

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Oregano

“Come on in, Fraser.  Dinner’s almost ready.”

Entering Ray’s apartment, Fraser is surprised by the scent of tomatoes and fennel sausage, hot and sweet peppers, basil and oregano.  He follows Ray into the kitchenette, where the limited counter space is littered with the detritus of cooking.  Ray bustles around the stove, stirring a pot of tomato sauce.

Fraser steps forward to offer help, although the limited space makes it impractical.  Turning to reach for something, Ray bumps into Fraser’s shoulder.  As Ray glances at him, Fraser is struck by a vivid memory of the last time he stood close to someone, cooking together in a kitchen not designed for two.

 _Go away,_ he tells her ghost.  _This is nothing to do with you._   He refuses to be chilled by her remembered touch.

“Grab the oregano, would you?”  Ray jerks his head at the counter.  Fraser passes the jar to Ray, who is hemmed in between him and the stove. 

Ray hums as he sprinkles herbs into the sauce, stirs it, then lifts the spoon for a careful taste.  Fraser should step away, but he doesn’t.  Looking at him quizzically, Ray holds out the spoon to Fraser’s mouth.

“What do you think?”

“I thought you were only pretending to be Italian.  I’m not sure Ray Vecchio knows how to cook.”

Ray laughs.  “Well, I do.  Just don’t bother much, ‘cause what’s the point, for just one person?  But I figured, hey, there are two of us now, so. . .”

Fraser blinks.  “Are there?”

“One.”  Ray taps his chest.  “Plus one.”  He taps Fraser’s.  “Two.” 

Fraser can only nod.  “I can’t fault your arithmetic,” he says.

“So go get us some plates,” says Ray, turning back to the stove.  “This is just about done.”


	17. Posture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Posture

Alone in his locked office/bedroom, in his shirtsleeves, Fraser drops into his desk chair like a sack of laundry.  He swings his feet up onto the desk, letting his body slide down in the chair until he can almost rest his head on its back.  Closing his eyes, he steeples his hands the way Ray sometimes does when he’s trying to visualize the details of a memory.  Fraser pictures Ray sprawled like this, body loose, brow furrowed in concentration.  He can’t see how well he’s matched the pose, of course, but it feels right.

Feet thump down; he launches himself in a half-controlled tumble over the desk, crashing into a stack of boxes, which topple down on his head (unintentional, but it means he’s doing this right).  Empty revolver steady in his gun hand, he thrashes free of the cardboard, slamming his left hand down on the desk to steady himself as he crouches behind it, sighting down his arm.  This is how Ray’s odd combination of clumsiness and grace feels from within; this is the adrenaline buzz of Ray in action.

He rises, bouncing on his toes, fists cocked, but no: Fraser has no desire to imagine, let alone relive Ray being beaten, even in the context of sport.  Instead he lets his hands drift forward, one low, one high, clasping an invisible waist and hand.  Weight still on his toes, his body draws up into a straight yet fluid posture, nothing like standing at attention or the stiff formality Fraser normally adopts for ballroom dancing.  With Stella in his arms, Ray’s body is gentle strength, supple control, passion contained within the structure of the dance.  Music expressed in muscle.  And for this moment, as he waltzes to a remembered tune, Fraser’s body is all that, too.


	18. Quiver

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Quiver

Fraser is familiar with the phrase “quivering in anticipation,” of course, but until now he had thought it was something only animals literally did.  The ripple down the back of a cat preparing to pounce; the ends of Dief’s fur when he’s on alert.  But today. . .dear Lord. . .he goes about his routine, and he tries not to think about this evening, but his body knows, it’s not forgetting for a moment, and it’s. . .quivering.  Little tremors up his back and down his arms, invisible, but impossible to ignore or control.  A warm tingle at the base of his spine, between his legs, that every so often swells to a soft shiver through the surrounding muscles.

The day drags on forever, balanced on this perpetual knife edge of _not yet, soon, not yet._

5:00, and suddenly _not yet_ slams over into _now._   The Consulate’s front door opens and Ray is walking towards Fraser’s desk.  He’s wearing his black leather jacket, his hair is carefully teased, he’s freshly shaven, and Fraser vibrates like a wine glass when its rim is rubbed with a damp finger, his ears ringing.

Ray’s eyes sweep over him: down, up.  Fraser knows he can’t look as disheveled as he feels: his hair is in place, his uniform as neat as ever.  But the heat in his cheeks is surely visible as a flush, and Ray must see how his hands, pressed palms-down on the desk, are trembling.

Ray sees.  Ray knows. 

“Jesus, you’re a fucking wreck,” he says.  And then he smiles, tender and fierce all at once, and lifts one of Fraser’s hands in his own.  Through his palm he feels Ray’s quiver, answering his own, completing the circuit.

Ray pulls him to his feet and out into the welcoming night.


	19. Riddle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Riddle

As a kid, Ray loved riddles, but he also hated them, because there was no way to guess the answer.  It made sense when you heard it, but it was never anything you could have figured out

_The poor have it, the rich need it, if you eat it you'll die. – Nothing._

_I am the beginning of the end, and the end of time and space.  I am essential to creation, and I surround every place. – The letter E._

A riddle has a million possible answers, but only one that’s right.  It’s a question made up to fit an answer.  Which is kind of pointless, honestly.

School was the opposite.  Every question had an answer, all right: one right answer, and there was always a way to figure it out, by using a formula or remembering something you’d read.  Ray was alright when he could fit things together into a story or a picture he could understand, but if he couldn’t, he was sunk.  His memory was fine, but he couldn’t pull the answer the teacher wanted out of the mess of information piled up in his brain.

Now, detective work is more like answering a riddle than taking a test.  Out of a million possible stories the evidence could be telling you, only one is right, but there’s no formula for the answer.  It’s not pure intuition, either, never mind what he yells at Fraser.  You do use logic, but not the kind Ray sucked at in Geometry.  _If A and B then C._   Solving crimes is about the sideways kind of logic that looks at

_If you break me_  
 _I do not stop working,_  
 _If you touch me_  
 _I may be snared,_  
 _If you lose me_  
 _Nothing will matter_

and sees the outline of _Your heart._


	20. Snuggles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Snuggles

Fraser will never admit this to Ray, but sex isn’t really the important thing.

Sex with Ray is wonderful—literally, a source of wonder.  It cleanses his body and mind in a way he hadn’t been aware of needing.  It makes him stop thinking.  He loves how sex opens Ray up, poses dropped and defenses down, face and body broadcasting every slightest feeling, all his need and trust and pleasure on display for Fraser, only for him.

But what Fraser loves better than sex with Ray—what he truly couldn’t live without—is afterwards, when Ray cuddles close to Fraser’s side, head on his chest, one arm and one leg draped over Fraser’s body.  Or in the morning, when Fraser wakes first and gathers Ray into his arms, listening to the contented snuffles that Ray makes as he slowly wakes into Fraser’s embrace.

 

                        *                                    *                                    *

Ray will never tell Fraser, but he isn’t in it for the sex.

Sex is great; Ray missed it like hell after his divorce.  Ray is calmer, less cranky, more focused—let’s face it, a better human being—now that he’s getting laid regular.  And sex with Fraser, in particular, is. . .it just about breaks Ray’s heart, the way Fraser looks at him when he’s dying to come, the groans that bust out of Fraser’s chest when he does.

But what Ray loves best is being able to touch Fraser whenever he wants.  He can lay his head in Fraser’s lap when they’re watching TV, or hug him from behind when he’s washing dishes.  Best of all is when he crawls up into consciousness, and the first thing he knows, before he can remember who or where he is, is that he’s cradled against someone’s strong, warm body, safe and loved and home.


	21. Tangent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Tangent

Dear Ray,

I hope that your anger at me when we parted in Yellowknife will not prevent you from reading this letter.  I have been considering the question that you asked me then, which I was not able to answer to either your satisfaction or mine.

My life is a line that touches the curves of other lives at a tangent: meeting only for a moment before diverging.  This is not to say that I don’t care for the people and places I have known.  I do.  My time in Chicago, and particularly my partnership with you, touched me deeply and will always remain part of me.  But it was one point along the straight road I travel; I never intended to stop there.  The laws of geometry do not permit it.

However, having written this, I wonder whether a better metaphor than Euclidian geometry would be the physics of the solar system.  Like a comet on a straight path through space, I passed close to Chicago, and its gravity bent my course into a curve, changing my direction.  My destination is no longer what it was; I don’t know where I am going now.  And it is possible that my original momentum was not enough to let me achieve escape velocity.  Perhaps my straight line has become an ellipse, my path an orbit.  My destination, a place I have already been.

Only my trust in you, and the distance between us, let me admit that what I have just written terrifies me.  I’m not entirely sure why it does.  Perhaps, knowing me so well, you will understand what I cannot see for myself.  Perhaps someday I will find the words to explain it to you.

For now, I take the liberty of signing myself,

Still your friend,

Benton Fraser


	22. Unspoken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Unspoken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one now also belongs to the later-written [Speechless Snippets](http://archiveofourown.org/series/36454) series.

There are things you just don’t talk about.  Ray’s known this all his life.  Exactly which things are off-limits depends on who you are and who you’re talking (or not talking) to.  Working undercover, Ray got good at knowing what not to talk about to who.  Which is not to say it’s easy.

Things not to talk about with Fraser: Victoria.  Vecchio, unless it’s about work or unless Fraser brings him up first.  Ways in which the RCMP is fucked up, ditto.

Curling is not on the banned list, but Ray doesn’t mention it unless he wants to watch Fraser turn into a raving lunatic.  Which can be entertaining.

Fraser’s mother.  Fraser’s sister’s mother.

It’s fine to talk about sex, in general, and it’s even okay to be crude if Ray doesn’t mind getting into an argument about his manners.  But talking about specifically Ray-and-Fraser sex is only okay when they’re actually doing it.  Ray can talk dirty then, too, but once he gets too worked up he pretty much loses the ability to string words together at all.

Why Fraser left.  Why he came back.  How long he’s staying.  
  
The word “love.”

But here’s the thing: what you don’t say and what you don’t know, those are two different things.  Half of Ray’s job is hearing what people don’t say, and the same goes for Fraser.  The two of them, they talk a lot about one thing and another, but when it really matters, they don’t need words.  A look or a gesture is enough to communicate: _Cover me.  He’s lying.  Gun in her handbag.  Jump through that window and I’ll beat you with a brick, after the bad guys are locked up._

Not everything has to be said.  Some things, you know without words.  It’s enough.


	23. Zing!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Unspoken

Ray grooves on the _zing!_ that passes between him and Fraser sometimes.  When they exchange an ironic glance behind Welsh’s back.  When Ray leans in to see the computer screen over Fraser's shoulder and suddenly his hand on Fraser’s shoulder doesn’t feel quite as casual as it should.  When Fraser sees Ray coming and his face lights up in a smile most people never get to see.  When they’re up in each other’s faces, Fraser’s big words and Ray’s agitated hands flying, and suddenly Ray has no fucking clue what they’re even arguing about, and somehow they’re on the same page after all, ‘cause they both bust out laughing.  That little spark of desire, promise, more-than-just-friendship: _zing!_

For a while, Ray wasn’t sure how Fraser felt about him, but he’s been watching, and Fraser’s signals are pretty clear by now.  That _zing!_ is mutual.  Fraser wants Ray, wants something more from him.  And Ray wants the same, so something’s gonna happen one of these days.  One of these days; but not yet.

All it would take would be for Ray to say, _Hey, Fraser. . ._   And Ray’s normally an impatient fucker, but he’s making himself wait, drawing this out, because once they put their cards on the table, that’s it.  No more gut-tingling _zing!_ , no more knowing/not-knowing, no more teasing, no more anticipation.  What’s coming next, when it comes, it’s gonna be good, better than good, oh yeah.  When the time comes, Ray will grab tight and not look back.  But meantime, he’s milking this in-between time for as much as he can get: it’s a thrill you can’t get any other way.  He’s making it last, because if everything works out like he hopes, he’ll never have another chance to play the soon-but-not-yet game again.


	24. Impasse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Unspoken

Despite his tough-guy pose, Ray’s disposition is naturally confiding; indeed, Fraser presumes that Ray developed the pose out of self-preservation.  Ray can keep his mouth shut when he needs to, but it’s obviously an effort for him.  Even when it comes to his deepest feelings, Ray is astonishingly open; or, at least, open with Fraser.

When he has something on his mind that is painful or awkward or potentially embarrassing, Ray doesn’t offer to discuss it – not at first.  But the hints he drops, his body language, his eyes: all his signals scream, _I want, I need to talk about this.  Make me talk._

As a rule, Fraser obliges.  It is a gift he willingly offers his friend, to push him to say what he feels.  Ray needs to talk. . . and if Fraser is honest with himself, he has to admit that it isn’t only Ray’s needs he’s thinking of.  Fraser craves these glimpses into his friend’s heart.  Craves the intimacy with which Ray turns to him, trusts him.

But this one thing, Fraser cannot push Ray to discuss.  This. . .attraction between them that manifests in certain looks that Ray throws him that Fraser is almost certain he knows how to decode; Fraser’s own response when Ray smiles at him, touches him, chooses his company, invites him in.

Ray’s signals are as clear as ever: he wants to talk about this, but he needs Fraser to push him.  But Fraser can’t, because if he pushes Ray to talk, then Ray will, and then they’ll both _know_ , and then. . .Fraser doesn’t know what happens then.

Possibly Ray does know, and could explain if Fraser asked.  But Fraser won’t ask.  All he can do is wait—hope, dread—for Ray’s patience to run out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The three Unspoken snippets were intended to be independent of each other, but Zing! and Impasse make an interesting pair if you consider them to be part of the same universe... :)


	25. Velocity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Velocity

Too fast, the Northwest Areas happened too fast.  Fraser handed Ray back his phone outside Vecchio’s hospital room and after that it was all a blur of flying fighting falling ( _oh God falling_ ), and then bone-cold and exhaustion and endless climbing, floating in a white/dark daze with only Fraser’s voice to hang onto to keep him from falling forever, then the wild exhilaration of tobogganing down a mountain and the adrenaline of the chase, hopeless odds and bullets flying and Mounties falling out of the sky, and Ray barely had time to blink and take a breath before it was over and now he’s shivering in his city boots in a fuck-ton of snow with Fraser telling him a bunch of stuff about the RCMP and submarines and Canada which all boils down to _goodbye,_ and Ray has no idea if he’s coming or going or what his own name is but he’s still got fast reflexes, so his hand shoots out before Fraser can turn away, it closes around Fraser’s parka-padded arm and Ray looks Fraser in the eyes and blurts out, _Those Franklin guys you told me about, you wanna go find them?_


	26. Wonderland

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Wonderland

_Alice in Wonderland_ is the first book Fraser remembers his mother reading to him.  He knew it by heart before he learned to read.  He can still recite it from memory.

On the Quest, he and Ray often passed the evenings by telling stories, singing or reciting poetry.   Fraser recited _A Christmas Carol_ over the course of several nights.  When he finished, Ray said, “Okay, my turn.”  Only fair, but Fraser was secretly incredulous that Ray had memorized anything longer than the lyrics to a pop song.

“Alice was hanging around outside, when this white rabbit ran by, all dressed up spiffy, checking its pocket watch and going, ‘Oh no!  I’m late!’” Ray began.

Fraser bit down hard on a surge of outrage at the mangling of his beloved text.  On its heels came a rush of astonished delight at Ray’s continual ability to surprise him, Ray’s playfulness, his creativity, his presence there in the Northwest Territories.  Fraser closed his eyes and let Ray’s animated voice remake the story into something simultaneously familiar and strange and altogether wonderful.

Now he sits by Ray’s hospital bed, helpless to soften the pain that twists his friend’s bruised, exhausted, restless face.  Ray’s jaw is wired, one eye bandaged shut, his hands immobilized.  All Fraser can offer is his presence, and what distraction his words can afford.

“Alice was beginning to get very tired of sitting by her sister on the bank, and of having nothing to do. . .”  As he speaks the familiar words, the tension-lines in Ray’s face ease slightly.  Fraser smiles a little as he continues the tale.  He’ll leave in Ray’s psychedelic-mushroom episode, he decides.  And Ray might be amused by a Mad Hatter and March Hare with the verbal mannerisms of Huey and Dewey. . .


	27. Xenophobia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Xenophobia

The next day, Fraser tries to find out what has become of his neighbors.  The new Ray gets him the fire department’s report: at least no one was killed, thank God.  Finding out where his neighbors have gone is a greater challenge.  He tracks down a few staying with relatives or at a local homeless shelter.  Many have simply disappeared.

At the shelter, Mrs. Krezjapolov and Mrs. Lopez are clearly reluctant to talk to him.  He offers to help them find housing; they demur.  In the end, he leaves them a pouch of pemmican and thirty American dollars: all he has in his pockets.  He feels like he’s offering them an insult.  They thank him, but don’t smile.

Mr. Mustafi, whom Fraser considers a friend, is at least willing to talk to Fraser, but isn’t particularly pleased to see him.  He’s staying with his daughter and her family in an already-overcrowded apartment above a dry-cleaner’s.  He declines Fraser’s offers of help.

“You bring trouble,” Mr. Mustafi tells him.  Fraser can scarcely deny it.  If he hadn’t been living there, the apartment building wouldn’t have burned.

He’s lived among them for three years, greeted them by name, borrowed their phones, fixed their radiators.  Organized them to stand against the landlord’s eviction notices.  But he’s never been one of them.  No more than he truly belonged in Tuktoyuktuk or Inuvik or Moose Jaw, among Quinn’s tribe or Eric’s, at Depot.

 _The resident alien_ , Ray Vecchio’s stand-in called Fraser this morning.  Defined and set apart by his differences, even here, in this city of infinite variety.  Why did he expect anything else?

He returns to the Consulate, where he also doesn’t fit in, but which is like a home in the sense that when he goes there, they have to take him in.


	28. Yeast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Yeast

It used to freak Ray out when he and Fraser fought, especially after they got together as a couple.  He’d be yelling at Fraser and remembering slammed doors and Stella’s ice-cold anger and the sick helpless panic of a marriage going under.  But remembering just made things worse.  Because fear, shame, doubt, whatever Ray feels comes out as anger, so he’d lash out harder, hating himself, waiting for the moment when he’d push too far, push Fraser right out the door.

He figured the fighting must freak Fraser out even worse.  But when he finally managed to bring it up, Fraser just said:

“Naturally, I’d prefer other ways of resolving our differences.  On the other hand, we both have strong personalities: conflict is only natural.”

“Natural, great.  Tornadoes and AIDS and killer bees are natural.”

“Well, that’s true, Ray.  But I find yeast a more helpful metaphor.”

“Yeast?”

“Its use in brewing, specifically.  Yeast converts sugars into alcohol, and also carbonates the beer.  It gives beer its essential character.  Of course, the brewer has to be careful about the type and amount of yeast used.  Too much yeast activity causes over-carbonation, which can blow the tops off the bottles or even shatter the glass.  Moderation is key; also, monitoring the fermentation process.”

“You’re a beer expert, now?  You don’t even drink.”

“Well, no, but my grandmother used to brew root beer and one summer four dozen bottles exploded all over our cellar.  It was a vivid learning experience.”

Ray had to laugh, and Fraser squeezed Ray’s hand, and since then, Ray worries a little less.  And when he feels like punching Fraser in the mouth, he imagines a gangly kid knee-deep in soda, earnestly bailing out the cellar with a plastic pail.  It’s harder to stay stupid-angry when he’s smiling.


	29. Zipper (1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Zipper

“Don’t,” says Ray.

Stella stops with her hands on that long, long zipper down the back of her wedding dress.  She looks over her shoulder at him, eyebrows frowning, mouth smiling.

“I’m not staying in this thing all night,” she says.  “Aren’t we married enough for you, yet?”

“Let me,” he says, stepping up behind her.

She laughs, low and sexy, although the smile she gives him is more fond amusement than come-on.

He wishes he could explain to her that it’s not about sex, or not mostly.  That widening V of Stella’s golden skin framed by the white cloth as he pulls the zipper down, slow as he can—yeah, it’s beautiful, sexy as hell, almost hypnotizing.  And yeah, he wants to touch her, to be in her, to hear her gasp out his name.  The thought of it has him hard already.

(The thought of doing it _on_ those billows of frothy, pearl-seeded fabric makes his hands shake so much he’s having trouble getting the damn zipper down.  Not that Stella would allow that in a million years, but it’s a fun thought.)

But that’s not why he needs to be the one to ease the dress off her.  It’s not about sex, and it’s not even about the fucking mindboggling wonder of the fact that this is his _wife_ he’s undressing here, although he’s been staring at her in that dress all day, thinking, _my wife_ , and she knows it.

What he doesn’t have the words for is his need to strip it all away, to find her familiar body under the dress and the makeup and gold ring, to look into her eyes and reassure himself that she’s still his Stella, the same as she was yesterday, the girl he loves, just Stella.  That nothing’s changed.


	30. Zipper (2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Zipper

Fraser’s gone when Ray gets out of the crappy motel shower.  Like he’d said he would be.  Fraser’s day starts earlier than Ray’s.

Ray doesn’t notice he’s pulled on the wrong jeans until he goes to do up the fly and finds a zipper instead of buttons.  It’s not like he has a choice of pants, though, ‘cause Fraser’s taken Ray’s with him.

Ray chuckles at the thought of Fraser wearing Ray’s jeans.  He could do it, he’s not _that_ much heavier than Ray.  Still, it’s got to be a snug fit.  Ray’s sorry he missed seeing that, but anyway, if Fraser’s walking home in ass-pinching jeans, it serves him right for leaving in such a hurry.  Ray wonders what had Fraser that distracted this morning.  He’d like to think Fraser’s mind was still blown from last night’s sex, but Fraser doesn’t _stay_ distracted by stuff like that.

Really, there’s not a lot that distracts Fraser, and it’s not like he has a case to chew on.  So, either he rushed off to stop a purse-snatching he heard down in the street, or. . .

Or he took Ray’s jeans on purpose, knowing that Ray is planning to go straight to work and will have to spend the whole day wearing Fraser’s yesterday’s pants.  Remembering last night every time he shifts in his seat.  Wondering if Fraser’s thinking about last night, about Ray’s skin under Fraser’s clothes.  Picturing Fraser getting hard inside his uniform when he thinks about Ray getting hard inside Fraser’s fortunately-too-loose jeans, _Oh God_. . .

But the thought that puts a goofy grin on his face—and maybe this is what Fraser was thinking when he did it—is that at some point, Ray’s going to have to give Fraser’s pants _back_.


End file.
